Just Walking
by chernobylcitybus
Summary: Roxas wants to leave. There may or may not be a galactic invasion by a swarm of murderous, flying dinosaurs that threaten to plunge The World into a neverending darkness lest they be vanquished by the power of love and friendship (Spoiler: There isn't...Sorry).


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Thank God for that.**

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"Do you ever want to just leave? To just get up, put a couple of things into an undersized backpack, open the door and walk? With no direction in mind but 'somewhere else' and no plan for what to do when you get there?"

"Uhh, I haven't really thought about it, to be honest."

"Well, I get that feeling all the time. It never used to be this way, I swear. I'm sure I was happy here at some point, I'm just not entirely sure when that point ended.

I like to imagine doing it someday. Just walking. And perhaps after a while, as the sun would begin to set and my body start to ache, I'd reach out my arm, thumb extended, and count how long it takes for a car to stop for me. And I'd smile my goofy smile when one does.

Maybe I'd hop in, look around a bit. Notice the cracks on the leather seats, and the crumpled papers on the floor. Let my lungs fill up with that wonderful old-car smell. I'd realize that the lines on the drivers face, the crinkle in his eyes and his wide, toothless smile are a thousand times more spectacular than the graphics in a video game, and the orange-red glow of the sunset over the trees is far more beautiful than the cold-white radiation of a computer screen.

And for a split-second I'd be happy. Then I would imagine you there. I'd imagine everything, from the slight hesitation in your voice when the driver asks you for your name, to the brief glances you'd shoot at me every few seconds, trying to say something special without words; our own private conversations held on each others faces. I'd imagine the surprising warmth of your hand as it reaches out to mine, and how every few seconds you'd squeeze, as if mere touching wasn't enough; our hands needed to be merged into one.

But then I'd let out a sigh. Because I would realize that you being there with me was just a figment of my imagination. Because I can't even imagine a scenario in which I imagine a scenario where you would come with me, Axel, and that's just fucking depressing."

Roxas took a deep breath.

"So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm tired, Axel. I'm tired of sitting around here stuck in the same monotonous cycle week after week. I'm tired of being trapped in this beautiless hell hole and I'm tired of waking up every morning only to be greeted by grey walls, polluted clouds and the soul-crushing realization that this is not who I want to be, and this is not what I want to be doing for the rest of my life. I am leaving tonight, Axel, and I want to know do you...do you want to come with me?

"Roxas I-" Axel stopped. His usually bright-red hair was now wet, and clinging to his face. He'd been lying comfortably in his warm king-sized bed only ten minutes ago, when he had heard the distinct beeping sound of a text:

** Axel. At the park. Need help. Please hurry.**

And now here he was, at 1:03, standing in the rain outside the old park/playground that they'd spent all their time in as kids. He hadn't even had any time to get properly dressed, a decision he immediately regretted as he took a step towards Roxas and felt his feet sink a few centimeters into the damp sand beneath him. The thin striped, button-down shirt and short, torn pants that he'd hastily thrown on in his hurry to get down to his friend did little to protect him from the icy water droplets falling from the sky. Although he didn't get cold very often -he was one of those people who, even in the midst of an ice-age, would radiate enough warmth around himself to light a damn bonfire -he still shivered as the rain slapped at his skin.

_ "Please, I need you to come with me..."_

Roxas was sitting on the red merry-go-round. It was way past its prime (the merry-go-round, not Roxas, although admittedly, he was not in the best of spirits either), the once vibrant red paint had been slowly chipped away and mounds of rust had accumulated along the base. The kids still played on it all the time, though. Round and round they'd go, the metaphor in their actions resonating throughout the messy park they accompanied.

_ "Axel..."_

He knew what Axel's answer would be. He knew before he even sent the text to him. And he knew now, again, when he looked up at his face. A sob escaped his throat. He'd promised himself before coming here that he would not cry in front of Axel. He **must not** cry in front of Axel. He had repeated it over and over in his head, holding onto the hope that if you say something enough it will become true. Yet he could feel the sour pangs begin to make their way up the inside of his cheeks. He felt the deep heaviness of his chest and heard his stuttered, shattered breathing overlap the uncomfortable warmth of his spilling tears; each sense in his body trying as hard as it could to outweigh the others, as if pain is better felt than seen, or seen than heard.

His tears quickly melted into the raindrops, but the crappy thing about the rain is that it does nothing to hide the fact that you're crying, no matter how hard it tries.

"Roxas, I'm sorry, I... I can't," Axel whispered.

**I can't.**


End file.
